Jaskier's head is up and frowning at Geralt as soon as he hears that grunt. Hell no!
"Ooooh nononono, don't you dear start brooding on me, you obstinate wolf!" And that's one finger poking at Geralt's chest. "I thought you were supposed to be the less emotionally constipated one! Use. Your. Words." Each word is punctuated by a poke before the hand is taken back. Huff! Silly witchers.
It's true, though, he didn't ask the sorceress to do this. But he wants to show some sympathy, especially since they were screwed over like a third party. Nothing like at all like Old Geralt's accusations, where his misery came from his own stupid choices. So Jaskier mumbles another thanks before smiling at the invitation. It's such a little thing but it makes a big difference.
"Of course! Dinner sounds lovely, and you can tell me your stories while we share some wine."
And maybe this time he gets to flirt a little more with the maids. Would it be weird, though, now they both know how the other feels? Speaking of...
Jaskier is already standing up to leave, but only take two steps before he stops. A new thought has come to his mind, one that squeezes his heart and makes him smell nervous as hell. It's a crazy thought, one that could hurt him anymore, but now that it's in his brain it won't go away and he knows he better deals with it sooner than later. At least they're having a moment here, better make use of the occasion instead of letting his mouth say too much by accident later.
"May I ask you a question?" He doesn't turn around, for the first time ever not daring to look at golden eyes when he speaks. "It's-- I promise I don't mean anything deeper at all with it, you have my word as a bard... which you probably think it's not worth much, do you not, the word of a storyteller. Right then, I swear on my bloody lute, it's not a proposition and I have no expectations, I'm not asking anything of you, a simply yes or not will do. I just have this need to know..."
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"Ooooh nononono, don't you dear start brooding on me, you obstinate wolf!" And that's one finger poking at Geralt's chest. "I thought you were supposed to be the less emotionally constipated one! Use. Your. Words." Each word is punctuated by a poke before the hand is taken back. Huff! Silly witchers.
It's true, though, he didn't ask the sorceress to do this. But he wants to show some sympathy, especially since they were screwed over like a third party. Nothing like at all like Old Geralt's accusations, where his misery came from his own stupid choices. So Jaskier mumbles another thanks before smiling at the invitation. It's such a little thing but it makes a big difference.
"Of course! Dinner sounds lovely, and you can tell me your stories while we share some wine."
And maybe this time he gets to flirt a little more with the maids. Would it be weird, though, now they both know how the other feels? Speaking of...
Jaskier is already standing up to leave, but only take two steps before he stops. A new thought has come to his mind, one that squeezes his heart and makes him smell nervous as hell. It's a crazy thought, one that could hurt him anymore, but now that it's in his brain it won't go away and he knows he better deals with it sooner than later. At least they're having a moment here, better make use of the occasion instead of letting his mouth say too much by accident later.
"May I ask you a question?" He doesn't turn around, for the first time ever not daring to look at golden eyes when he speaks. "It's-- I promise I don't mean anything deeper at all with it, you have my word as a bard... which you probably think it's not worth much, do you not, the word of a storyteller. Right then, I swear on my bloody lute, it's not a proposition and I have no expectations, I'm not asking anything of you, a simply yes or not will do. I just have this need to know..."
He's rambling, he knows. A deep breath.
"...do you think I'm attractive?"